The Blood Divide, page 26
Jack looked at Cruise and with the sound of the Granthis echoing around the temple, the two men held each other’s gaze until Cruise’s jaw dropped.
‘This is being the work of the Shere-Punjab?’ whispered Cruise.
Jack nodded. ‘Nothing mythical about them.’
‘And you are not being in any more danger?’
‘Only if I put myself in it.’
‘Meaning?’
‘We are going to see my sons. They are closing up Jallianwala Bagh.’
‘This is being miraculous development,’ said Cruise, and stuffed the rest of the halva into his mouth.
‘You can leave now, Cruise. You’ve done enough for me.’
‘No, Mr Jack, I am going upstairs and having langar.’
Langar was the food the temple distributed to worshippers free of charge every evening.
‘I am taking my meal and you are meeting me back here when you are finishing?’ said Cruise.
Jack nodded.
‘Are you being OK, Mr Jack?’
‘I can’t think straight, Cruise. I’m about to meet my sons off the back of so much death. I should be excited and yet I feel lost inside.’
Cruise pointed towards the temple. ‘When I am inside, saying a prayer for Sister, I am realizing one thing’ – he stared solemnly at Jack – ‘you must end this bloodshed tonight, Mr Jack. No more can be spilled.’
Detective Singh walked by the side of Sahib’s wheelchair, with Jack a few paces in front. They exited the Golden Temple and waited for Jack to retrieve his shoes.
Jack felt dirty, being escorted by the men inadvertently responsible for Aisha’s death. He was also deeply bitter at his mother’s betrayal, at how easily she had disowned him when his life had taken, as she had put it, an immoral path. It seemed that unconditional love was not something Jack’s mother believed in.
En route to the Bagh, Jack thought about his ancestry.
Steeped in honour.
An honour he had not adhered to.
Was he ultimately to blame for all of this?
His head was pounding at the accusations swirling through his mind and he found himself fidgeting with the rakhi around his wrist, still stiff with Aisha’s blood.
They paused outside Jallianwala Bagh. A row of shops ran parallel to the entrance. The closest one, Chocolate Planet, was still open and a few tourists were enjoying a late evening snack.
Detective Singh turned towards Jack. ‘In Bradford,’ he said, taking Jack by the arm and leading him forcefully away from Sahib, ‘what I did at your shop – that was my job.’
‘Do you enjoy all your “jobs” this much?’ said Jack, shrugging his arm free. The bastard had tried to kill him and Jack wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
‘I don’t entertain the luxury of conscience,’ replied Singh. ‘I am given orders. I follow them.’
‘Your point being?’ said Jack.
‘When we step inside, I ask you not to force my hand.’
‘Meaning?’
Singh just looked at him.
‘They are my sons. Not yours,’ said Jack.
‘We are all Khalsa sons. First and foremost.’
‘Do you have children?’
Singh nodded.
‘Put yourself in my shoes.’
‘I cannot. It is abhorrent to me how you have lived your life, especially with such revered ancestry.’
‘I just want to see my sons,’ said Jack, tired of all of this. Something was bothering him but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
‘And you will see them,’ replied Singh. ‘But let me be clear: this is our land, our way of life. If you cause trouble here, in this sacred land – there will be no second chances.’ He tapped his sword.
‘Are you finished?’ said Jack.
Singh nodded.
‘I’m ready to see my sons.’
The courtyard outside the entrance had a sign written in Punjabi and English. Jallianwala Bagh was a massacre involving the unlawful killing of local men and women. Two thousand of them had gathered in the beautiful grounds to demonstrate peacefully against the British Raj. A plaque described how one thousand six hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition had been fired by General Dyer and his men, lasting almost twenty minutes. The official death toll was 379, with over 1,200 injured, but the real number was thought to be much higher. The Brigadier-General had been acting under orders, with the British wanting to stamp their authority across the region during a period of unrest and send a message that they were not to be crossed. Ultimately, however, the event turned public opinion against the British and may have helped lead towards Indian independence.
Sahib turned off the power to his wheelchair. He stood up slowly, arthritically. Singh handed him a walking stick. They would be on foot from here on.
The darkening sky threatened more rain, the atmosphere heavy with moisture. Behind them continued the sound of the Granthis, booming the Guru Granth Sahib around Amritsar.
They walked slowly through the doors of the Bagh, down a narrow path. A sign said ‘Historical Lane’. It was where people had fled when the firing began. Bullet holes were still visible in the walls. Jack felt a lump in his throat.
The end of the path led through to an exquisite garden, deserted except for a few birds pecking for food. Powerful spotlights lit up a central path with colourful flowers in full bloom to either side.
In the middle of the gardens was a large well, the Martyrs Well, where one hundred and twenty people had died, throwing themselves in to escape the bullets.
Jack walked slowly behind Sahib, scouring the area for any sign of his sons. Unease was spreading through his body.
He had seen something outside.
When Singh had been talking to him.
Jack hadn’t registered it at the time. But now, in the serenity of the gardens, the hazy image started to clear.
‘There,’ said Singh suddenly, pointing towards the end of the path.
Jack stopped dead.
Two broad-shouldered boys, dressed in the blue and orange outfits of the Khalsa, were walking slowly towards them, their swords shimmering on their waists in the darkness.
‘You’re to say nothing to them about who you are,’ said Singh, turning to Jack with a threatening stare. ‘Please,’ he added, trying to defuse the hostility. ‘This is not the time or place for confrontations, especially on these sacred grounds.’
Jack heard the words but wasn’t really listening.
How had he missed it?
Those tourists in Chocolate Planet – one of them had looked strangely familiar.
Sara.
Jack spun round to see the menacing approach of Habib Iqbal, with Sara a few steps behind.
Habib raised his arm, pointing a gun directly at Jack.
SEVENTY-ONE
SINGH DREW HIS SWORD and Jack’s sons came charging down the path towards them. The heavens, expectant with rain, finally surrendered. Heavy drops of water began thudding at their feet.
‘Who are you?’ said Singh, pointing his blade at the hostile visitors.
‘Put your swords down,’ said Habib, waving his gun at them. He was accompanied by another man, who was unarmed. Jack remembered him from his awkward visit to Habib’s home with Aisha – he was Habib’s chief bodyguard. Sara was standing behind both men, looking coldly at Jack.
‘That is not possible,’ replied Sahib calmly, ‘not while you are armed.’
‘Jallianwala Bagh. You couldn’t have picked a better place to end your life, Jack,’ spat Habib angrily. ‘She was just a child. Twenty-one – and you took her from me, you bastard!’
His hand was shaking with anger.
‘Who are you?’ asked Sahib.
Singh was sizing up the men. Jack’s sons hadn’t spoken, just surrounded Sahib protectively, their swords primed, waiting for someone to move. Jack could see them out of the corner of his eye but lacked the courage to turn round and face them. It seemed easier to focus on Habib.
And the gun.
‘My name is Habib Iqbal. And I am here to kill this man,’ he said, pointing the gun at Jack.
He doesn’t realize they’re my sons.
‘Habib Iqbal,’ replied Sahib slowly. ‘The girl’s father?’
He nodded. ‘Are these the guys, Jack? The ones responsible?’
‘Habib – put the gun down. I can explain,’ Jack replied.
‘Losing Aisha is something I will have to live with,’ said Habib. ‘Allowing you to live is a different matter. The only question is: do I take these other bastards with me?’
‘That won’t be possible,’ said Sahib. ‘You have but one pistol. There are three soldiers here with swords. While you might kill one of us, perhaps two, the third one will cut off your head.’
‘Baxi,’ hissed Habib, ‘he’s the one I came for. The rest of you can leave.’
‘This man is working towards a new way of life. His family is tied to this city. We will not allow what you propose.’
Habib’s bodyguard looked nervous, as if he hadn’t signed up for this. He looked far from competent to deal with the situation.
Sara was stony-faced. She looked ghostly, shrouded in a black headscarf. Jack tried to catch her eye but she refused to look at him.
Habib retreated a few paces, out of reach of the swords. Singh wasn’t stupid. He moved with him, keeping him in range.
‘Don’t,’ said Habib.
‘If you shoot, it’ll be the only bullet you fire,’ said Singh. Jack’s sons moved from his periphery to stand side by side with Singh. They moved as a trio towards Habib. Closing off the space.
‘Stop!’ said Habib, panic in his voice. He fired a shot in the air, over Singh’s head. ‘The next one will kill you,’ he threatened.
Sahib stepped forward, his whole body, as ever, covered by an orange veil. ‘I know who you are,’ he said softly.
‘Then you know why I’m here. This man killed my daughter. I will not rest until his blood is pooling at my feet.’
‘You blame this man for your loss?’ asked Sahib.
Habib nodded and turned the gun back on Jack. His finger was tense on the trigger.
‘You are standing in the land of warriors,’ replied Sahib. ‘We do not interfere with fair combat. You have a grievance. It will be settled.’ Sahib now stepped in front of Jack.
‘I offer you both a sword. Settle your dispute, man to man. Anyone can pull a trigger,’ he said, almost goading Habib.
‘I don’t believe you.’
Sahib stepped closer still. Jack could tell Singh didn’t like it. The old man was at Habib’s mercy but didn’t seem at all concerned. ‘Give your wife this weapon, as insurance. In a fair fight there will be no interference. It is not our way. You have my kasam,’ said Sahib.
‘He’s too afraid,’ said Jack, seeing an opportunity to remove the power from Habib. Whether Sara could ever pull the trigger was an unknown. Habib, though, would have no problem in doing so.
Habib’s eyes sharpened. His ego began to stir.
‘If you pull that trigger, you will most certainly die,’ continued Sahib. ‘When you fire, the bullet will kill Jack but there are three armed Khalsa here and before your finger can pull the trigger again, your head will be on the ground. This fact is undeniable. This way, the better man will emerge victorious and should that be you, it is something we shall have to make our peace with. We do not retaliate if the combat is fair.’
‘Throw down one of the swords,’ said Habib.
Sahib spoke softly to one of Jack’s sons.
‘No,’ said Singh. ‘Take mine.’
He waited for Habib to hand the gun to Sara, then lowered his sword, turned it round and held it out by the handle to Habib.
One of Jack’s sons turned to Jack and offered his sword. As Jack took it from him, for the first time, he came face to face with his own bloodline.
Please do not spoil this sacred place.
That was the request on the sign hanging from one of the trees.
Ironic, thought Jack, as he moved cautiously towards Habib, his sword pointing at his head.
The two camps were standing on opposite sides of the grass. Sara was holding the gun, pointing it at Jack.
He thought about what Sahib had said – about his father and his grandfather.
About his heritage.
His bloodline.
Shere-Punjab.
Lions of the Punjab.
Jack’s eyes narrowed and he gripped the sword confidently. He’d been taught how to use it as a child and, while he hadn’t held one for decades, it didn’t feel alien in his hands.
He glanced at the rakhi on his wrist and thought of Aisha.
Was he really about to make amends for her death by trying to take her father’s life?
‘Do you remember back in Bradford, Habib, how I told you the next time I got my hands on you, I’d kill you?’ Jack said.
‘I remember,’ said Habib, twisting the sword nervously in his hand.
‘I meant it, and yet now, after all I’ve been through, and with your daughter’s voice firmly in my mind, I don’t wish for your blood also to be on my hands.’
Jack lowered his sword.
Singh and Sahib were standing a few feet away, watching as Jack let his arm fall.
‘What is he doing?’ whispered Singh.
Sahib took a moment and then said, ‘It is not our fight any more.’
‘We cannot allow a Baxi’s blood to be spilled in this Bagh – and by a Muslim, no less,’ hissed Singh.
Sahib turned his head towards Singh. Rainwater dripped steadily from his hood on to the ground.
‘Have faith: on this land, at this hour, he will not lose this fight. Trust me. Something tells me there is a hand yet to be played.’
With his sword by his side, Jack took the heat out of his voice. ‘One hundred years ago, nearly four hundred people died in these grounds when an egotistical prick let the power go to his head. And now here we stand, about to add to that list? For what – revenge? Honour?’
‘All that and more,’ said Habib.
Jack pointed his blade at Habib. ‘You want to know who’s to blame? Maybe it’s you, Habib, for taking to bed a woman you said you’d look after like a sister. Maybe we start there, with that.’
Jack saw that his comment had hit home. Habib’s gaze dropped.
‘Or maybe I’m to blame for letting all that money we were making go to our heads. For embracing an impure way of life rather than taking a better road. We both knew what we were doing back then. So, is this our penance? I’ve lost my wife and everything I own and now, with nothing to lose, I stand here before you, ready to defend the only thing I have left, my life.’
‘You … you took my daughter from me,’ said Habib.
Jack shook his head. ‘I did not kill Aisha. She needed to know the truth about Kirin. I tried to get her to leave. There was nothing I could do to stop her. You must know that stubborn will of hers.’
His eyes were drawn once again to the rakhi on his wrist. He threw down his sword.
Habib looked at him, perplexed.
‘Enough death for now.’ Jack glanced again around the gardens. ‘I won’t defile this place with our dirty history. Your daughter, a girl who tied a rakhi on my wrist,’ said Jack, raising his arm, ‘would not want us to end it like this. No matter whose sword strikes the fatal blow, Habib, we are both losers in this story.’
Jack’s words seemed to have struck a chord with Habib. He lowered his own sword and now, instead of the pure bitterness on his face, Jack saw pain and suffering – a father mourning for his lost child.
Habib threw his sword to the ground.
No sooner had he done so, then Sara stepped to the side of the two men and raised her weapon.
Without warning, she aimed and pulled the trigger.
SEVENTY-TWO
TIME SEEMED TO FREEZE as Habib’s body thudded to the ground. Sara had shot him in the chest.
No one moved.
Jack stared at her, stunned. Sara fired another shot at Habib, this time in the back.
The man accompanying Sara came to her side, seeming as shocked as Jack. Then he took the gun from her, before taking her into his arms.
And only now did Jack understand what was happening.
History, it seemed, had returned to Habib, although this time he was on the receiving end of deceit.
‘Sahib?’ said Singh, aghast at the development. ‘What new evil is this?’
Sahib spoke softly, but as if he had perhaps seen this coming. ‘It would appear that Habib’s kismet is darker than any of us realized.’
Sara walked towards Jack and motioned for him to stand aside.
Jack did so, unable to take his eyes off her. Gone was the submissive woman he had once known.
Sara stood in front of Habib, her face without expression or emotion.
Habib was gasping, dying in front of their eyes, his blood blossoming around his enormous body.
‘This all started with your affair with Kirin, Habib. Tonight, it ends with my affair with your most trusted guard, Rehaan,’ she said, nodding towards him. ‘I’m done with your infidelity and powermongering. And in a country five thousand miles from home, there will be no one to uncover what happened here tonight.’
Habib’s breathing became erratic. Bright red mouthfuls of blood spurted from his lips.
Finally he lay there in silence, his blood seeping into the soil.
Sara turned to Jack, her face icy in contrast to the darkness behind her. ‘I was never a wife to him, Jack. I endured his presence and got used to living in wealth. When I saw you, it made me realize what I had become.’ She pointed towards Habib. ‘And now I can be whoever I want to be. The old Sara. Or a new one? I’m free of him at last.’
Jack had taken Sara to the building at the end of Jallianwala Bagh. The information centre was closed but the covered foyer sheltered them from the rain lashing the gardens.
Sara’s voice was tired. Jack wasn’t sure she realized yet the full extent of what she had done.
‘How do we move forward from this?’ said Jack.
‘I’ll go back to England,’ she replied. She nodded towards the Sikh men dealing with Habib’s body. ‘I assume they’ll take care of matters here?’
